


Promptlets

by Justgot1



Category: Original Work, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, Prompt Fill, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:39:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justgot1/pseuds/Justgot1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets written off the top of my head to prompts I'm given.  Your mileage may vary.  So may the ratings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to send me a prompt!](http://justgot1.tumblr.com/ask)

**__Prompt: Bickering in the supermarket post-case. Sherlock is starving._ _ **

\+ + +

"Why can't we just get takeaway?" Sherlock whined, slumping along behind John at the Tesco Express like a teenaged vampire. "I'm _starving_."

John sighed. "We can't live on takeaway. For god's sake, when was the last time you ate a vegetable?"

"Don't be ridiculous John, I had the Saag Aloo when we went to Mumtaz last week."

"You had two bites of _my_ Saag Aloo when we went to Mumtaz _three weeks ago_. Seriously, I don't know how you don't have scurvy or rickets or something. Grab a cereal."

Sherlock dropped a box into John's basket.

"Coco Shreddies? Are you six?" John slotted the box back on the shelf and grabbed muesli.

"Fine, I'm leaving," Sherlock snapped. "When you're done being a tedious middle aged housewife, I will be at Phoenix Palace eating pork ribs in honey sauce." He turned with a flare of his coat to stalk away.

"If you eat something healthy," John said mildly, "I'll give you a blow job."

Sherlock stilled, turning slightly to speak over his shoulder. "Define healthy."

"Salad. Lean protein."

Sherlock turned, eyes narrowed. "Where?"

John considered the local options. "Pret?"

Sherlock looked outraged. " _Pret?_ I'm perishing and you want to take me to _Pret?_ "

John rolled his eyes. "God you are such a posh twat. Fine, what do you want?"

Sherlock considered. "Sushi."

"Urgh, no," John gagged.

"You are a ridiculous philistine," Sherlock sniffed. "I know a place."

"Ugh, fine. Just don't get that ..." John shuddered "...sea urchin thing."

"Deal." A thoughtful look passed over Sherlock's face and he ducked down an aisle.

"Where are you going" John called after him.

"I'm getting _dessert_."

John raised an eyebrow at the can that came rolling down the conveyor belt a few moments later behind the contents of his basket. He smiled. "Really, Sherlock."

"Vitamins, John. Vitamins."

John snorted at the can of diced pineapple. "You are just so good to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Nostraightline.
> 
> Also, [pineapple reference.](http://www.examiner.com/article/recipe-for-better-tasting-semen) Heh.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Prompt: John and Sherlock live on opposite sides of this fence and meet under this tree:_ **

  


\+  +  +

"What are you doing?"

John started with surprise and opened his eyes, disturbing the cherry blossom petals that had fallen across his face. A tall, thin boy with dark hair was frowning at him from the other side of the fence.

John smiled at the boy from where he lay in the grass under the cherry tree.  "I am drawing myself on the ground with flowers."

The tall boy squinted at him uncomprehendingly.  "You're ... doing what?"

"You know how you lay in the snow and make snow angels?"

"No."  

John gaped.  "No?  You've  _never_  made a snow angel?"

"I'm going to assume that by 'snow angel' you mean the shape that's left behind in the snow after you've lain in it and flapped your arms up and down," the boy said a bit contemptuously.

"Er," John replied. "Yes."

"Sounds like a stupid thing to do," the boy sniffed.

John stared at the boy.  The boy stared back.  After a moment the boy sighed with impatience and said "Fine, then, you're making an angel shape in the fallen petals."

John let his head fall back on the ground and let his eyes close again.  "Almost right.  I'm lying here, holding still, and letting the flowers fall on me and when I get up, there will be my shape in the flowers."

The boy said nothing for a full minute. "What purpose does this serve," he asked at last. "Is it ... an experiment?"

John considered this.  "I suppose it could be.  Really, it's just 'cause the flowers tickle a bit when the land on my face and they smell nice."

"Perhaps it could be used to test the rate at which blossoms fall from the tree," the boy went on dubiously,"comparing the density of petals on the ground under different conditions, using the negative space as a control..."

John flicked a few petals off his eyelids so he could look at the boy again.  He was now sitting on the top fence rail, legs hanging over to John's side.  "I wouldn't know about that, but I think when I get up, it will look like a dead body outline!"

The boy's face immediately lit up.  " _Excellent!_ "  He hopped off the fence and brushed a patch of grass next to John clear of petals, then flopped down on his back, grinning a bit madly.  John laughed.

"I'm John."

"Sherlock."

They smiled at each other, then both closed their eyes and turned their faces up to the sky, the cherry blossoms falling like snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Nostraightline. Who is apparently the only person who ever gives me prompts. Because she is my fandom wife and has to indulge me.
> 
> Also, she did the beautiful sketch of the tree!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nostraightline and I both took up the challenge on this one. Two for the price of one!
> 
> Hers is Sherlock; mine is not. Unless you want to imagine it as such.

**Prompt: write a story to accompany this digital collage I created.**

_Justgot1:_

The witch of the bayou woke up young, woke up in the gloaming through the tupelo trees.

“It is your lucky day,” she told the frog and she slipped on her red velvet dress and stepped out onto the warm, green water like a pondskater, alligators gliding under her feet.  The kaleidoscope of butterflies that was her face lent her their wings’ eyes so that she could see everywhere, everything.

“None of my days with you have been lucky,” complained the frog from his place where her heart should be, but wasn’t. 

“My prince,” she laughed, “you  _wanted_  to be my heart.”  Her laughter sounded like the flutter of hundreds of wings.

The frog sulked.  It was an old argument.  “Why is today my lucky day?”

“Because today I am young and beautiful.  Today you might get that kiss.”

The frog sighed.  “Promises, promises.”

The witch of the bayou knew that someday soon she’d kiss the frog and he would transform into the handsome prince he was, for perhaps the hour or two he would last in the dark swamp where only the cold-blooded thrived.  But there was a certain kind of man who never wanted what he had, and demanded what was not good for him, and handsome princes were always those kinds of men.

“Oh frog,” she said gently.  “You don’t know how lucky you are.”

The frog said nothing, and dreamed of gold balls chased by beautiful princesses, of daring rescues from dread beasts and doublets of midnight velvet, dreamed in his cage where the witch’s heart should be, but wasn’t.

* * *

 

_Nostraightline:_

Seventeen stairs. She knew every one of them, the creak the third one made if trod too close to the bannister, the split riser on the tenth that pinched the unwary stiletto. And the landing, just outside the door, still gritty, still dark. It wasn't her flat anymore, but John's, who lay on the other side of the locked door she could easily pick, it was child's play, but could not bring herself to breach. So she curled up in her coat, tucked her chin to her knees, and slept --  

 -- dreamed, of brackish water and a witch's house, of a red taffeta skirt, of alligators to do her bidding and the darkness of a forest at her back, her back, against the trees, against the wall, and her heart, burnt out, replaced with a frog. A patient frog, a doctor frog, waiting in her torso, where her heart should be. What was the fairy tale about frogs and princes? Her dream-self knew, oh yes, if kissed, the frog became golden haired royalty, holding out a hand to welcome her in her red flounces and her hat of butterflies --

 -- the butterflies were in her stomach as she awoke in the liminal space of the landing, not sure who she was, or where she was, empty inside, light streaming through the open door, gilding birdcage hair shot through with silver, hand outstretched. 

"Sher --? Sherlock?"

She clasped the outstretched hand, a touch-kiss, felt the jolt of connection run through his body, rose, and the butterflies took flight to fly, fly, fly in a blood-whirl of breath and light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn but we're good!


	4. It was a fall of years

It was a fall of years and Sherlock’s still falling, fell through the world like it was spider’s silk, kept going, and hasn’t stopped yet.

John had seen no reason to go where Sherlock was not, so he stopped. He closed his eyes to Sherlock’s subtle London and woke to mundanity, slowly.

The room Sherlock stood in now was a description of a room. A rough outline, low on adjectives. You wouldn’t understand, because you always live alone.

Be careful what you wish for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [On Tumblr.](http://justgot1.tumblr.com/post/96709153189/it-was-a-fall-of-years-and-sherlocks-still)


End file.
